Tourist Vanished in Appalachians — Backpack Found Slashed, Bones of Small Animals Around

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Tourist Vanished in Appalachians — Backpack Found Slashed, Bones of Small Animals Around

Some stories never make it to prime-time news. They are not written about in major newspapers, and police reports on such cases gather dust on shelves in archives for years, marked as unresolved. But it is these stories passed down by word of mouth by locals, rescuers, and hunters that turn out to be the most terrifying, because there are no easy answers.

Today, we’re going to talk about one such case—the disappearance of Jeremy Wells in the Appalachian Mountains in the fall of 1997. What was found at the site of his last known location defies logical explanation and still causes even the most experienced trackers to say that there is something in the forests of North Carolina that humans would be better off not encountering. This is not just a story about a missing tourist. It is a story about strange footprints, a torn backpack, and the absolute primal horror that remained there on Turtle Ridge.

Jeremy Wells was 29 years old. He was neither a desperate extreme sports enthusiast nor a novice hiker. He was an ordinary guy from Charlotte who worked as a systems analyst at a small IT company. He sat in front of a computer screen five days a week and tried to get away from the city on the weekends. Hiking was his passion—a way to clear his head and enjoy the silence. He was methodical and cautious. He always planned his route in detail, registered with the rangers, and carried all the necessary equipment.

In September 1997, Jeremy took a week’s vacation to hike alone along one of the most picturesque but isolated sections of the Appalachian Trail in the Pisgah National Forest. Locals called this section of the trail Turtle Ridge because of the distinctive shape of the rock formations which resembled a turtle shell. His plan was simple and designed to take five days. He left his car in the parking lot at the trailhead on Monday, September 15th, with a note on the windshield indicating his expected return date: Friday, September 19th.

Before leaving, he called his parents. It was their usual ritual. He briefly described his route, assured them he would be careful, and promised to contact them on Wednesday evening when he reached a spot with cell phone reception. That was the last time they heard his voice.

The Disappearance

When Jeremy didn’t call on Wednesday, his mother began to worry. Cell phone reception in the mountains was unreliable, and his father tried to calm her down. But when he didn’t call on Thursday either, they both became worried. On Friday evening, when Jeremy didn’t return to his car, their anxiety turned to panic. On Saturday morning, September 20th, they reported him missing to the Avery County Sheriff’s Office.

A search operation began immediately. Local rescuers, rangers, and volunteers—about 30 people in all—took part. The first two days of searching yielded absolutely nothing. The weather began to deteriorate. The sky was overcast, and at night, the temperature dropped to almost zero. Rescuers combed the area square by square, following Jeremy’s presumed route. His car was still in the parking lot, unlocked, with wallets and phones inside as if they’d planned to return soon. No signs of foul play, just an eerie normalcy.

By Monday, the third day of the search, hopes of finding him alive and unharmed began to fade. The ridge was a wild place. A person could slip on wet rocks, fall into a ravine, or encounter a black bear. There were many theories, but none of them could be confirmed. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, no abandoned equipment. Jeremy Wells had vanished into the forest.

The Discovery

The real breakthrough came on the sixth day of the search, Thursday, September 25th. One of the volunteers, an experienced hunter, decided to deviate from the main route and check a small ravine overgrown with thick bushes about half a mile from the trail. And that’s where he found Jeremy’s backpack. The finding immediately caused confusion. The backpack wasn’t just lying on the ground. It was wedged between two boulders, as if someone had deliberately placed it there. But the strangest thing was how it looked.

It was a sturdy Cordura backpack designed for heavy loads, and it had been cut open—not torn or gnawed, but cut open. Three deep parallel cuts ran along the entire back from the top flap to the bottom. The edges were smooth, as if left by something incredibly sharp, like three blades fixed to a single handle. No known predator inhabiting the Appalachians could have left such marks. Bears tear and shred, leaving shreds of fabric and deep holes. Lynxes and cougars scratch, but their claws could not have cut through thick fabric so neatly and deeply.

The contents of the backpack were partially scattered around. The tent, sleeping bag, and some clothes lay nearby, wet from the rain. But something was missing. All the food was gone—freeze-dried packets, energy bars, nuts. The first aid kit was also gone. However, the wallet with cash and documents, the map, the compass, and even the book Jeremy had brought with him were untouched. It didn’t look like a robbery, and it didn’t look like the actions of someone who had lost their mind. It looked as if something had opened the backpack with the sole purpose of getting to the food and medicine.

The Unsettling Surroundings

But the most disturbing detail, which made even experienced rescuers feel uncomfortable, was what surrounded the backpack. Within a radius of about 10 feet, the ground was littered with small bones. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that these were the remains of squirrels, chipmunks, and some small birds. The bones had been gnawed clean, and some had strange scratches on them, thin and deep. They weren’t scattered randomly, but lay in small piles, as if someone or something had been sitting there for a long time, feeding and discarding the remains in one place. It looked like someone’s lair or feeding ground.

The investigators who arrived from the sheriff’s office were just as puzzled as the rescuers. They carefully examined the area. There were no traces of Jeremy himself—no blood, no pieces of clothing. But next to the backpack, on the damp ground, under a layer of fallen leaves, they found something else. These were not clear prints of paws or boots. They were wide, smudged indentations, as if something weighty and soft had been dragged across the ground. There was no distinct shape, just a few long broken strips leading from the backpack into the depths of the forest and disappearing on a rocky patch. It was as if something massive had crawled on its belly, writhing.

The Unnerving Behavior of the Dogs

Attempts by dog handlers to follow the trail with service dogs ended in failure. Two German Shepherds brought to the site behaved very strangely. They whined, tucked their tails between their legs, and refused to go in the direction of the indentations. The dogs resisted, growled at nothing, and were clearly frightened by something. Their behavior was so unusual that one of the dog handlers later admitted in an informal conversation that in 15 years of service, he had never seen his dog react like that. She was not afraid of the smell of a predator.

The official search for Jeremy Wells was called off after 10 days. The helicopters stopped circling over Turtle Ridge, and the volunteers returned to their everyday lives. For the Avery County authorities, Jeremy became just another statistic in a long list of those taken by the mountains. The case remained open, but no further action was taken. The official version given to his parents was vague: missing, presumed dead, possibly an accident involving a wild animal. However, this explanation failed to satisfy those who had witnessed the torn backpack and the strange tracks surrounding it. It especially didn’t sit right with Jeremy’s parents. His dad, Martin Wells, a former engineer with an analytical mind, couldn’t accept the lack of logic in what happened. He was convinced that the official investigation had hit a dead end because it had run into something that didn’t fit their guidelines and protocols.

The Investigator’s Theory

Over the next few months, the Wells family spent a significant portion of their savings trying to find answers. They hired a private investigator, a former police officer from Raleigh named Frank Collier. Collier was a man of the old school, in his 50s, cynical and believing only in what he could touch or read in a corner’s report. He considered stories about monsters in the woods to be tales for tourists. Taking on the Wells case, he was confident he would find a simple explanation.

Most likely, the guy had run into poachers or moonshiners in the woods, become an unwanted witness, and they got rid of him, making it look like an animal attack. This version seemed most plausible to him. First, Collier gained access to the case files. He spent hours studying the photos of the backpack. Three parallel cuts bothered him. He enlarged the pictures and stared at the edges of the fabric. It really didn’t look like the work of a knife. A blade would have left a thinner, cleaner mark, but it didn’t look like claws either.